It Wouldn't Be My Story if it Were a Short Story...

My day started with a bang. Unfortunately, not the kind of bang that seems to be at the forefront of my mind as of late. Instead it was a car banging into my car as I drove my children to school.

I was waiting to make a left turn through a median and I was in between two cars. We were pretty noticeable. I mean we were noticeable if you actually looked in your fucking rear view mirror before you backed out of your driveway. If you didn't bother to do that, then it's true that you couldn't see us.

So, this guy backs into my car. It sounds and feels like there's going to be a lot of damage. Jack and Jill are a little freaked out, but I reassure them that everything is okay as I pull off the street into someone's driveway. As we pull into the driveway, Jack asks if he can get out and look at the damage and at the same time worries that his door will fall off even though the car was hit in the right, front quadrant. I tell him that his door is fine since the point of impact was at least six feet away from his door. He sighs in relief.

We all climb out of the car and I marvel at the lack of damage. It's not so bad having a plastic car (aka a Saturn). The bumper will have to be replaced and possibly the side panel, but it's nothing horrific. Until it's fixed, I won't be driving around in a jalopy.

The man who hit me comes over to look at the car and inspects the damage.

"Es nothing," he says.

"No, Sir, it's something."

"No," he says. "Es nothing."

I ask, "Do you have insurance?"

He nods then tells me in broken English and hand signals that it's my fault that he hit me because I didn't honk.

"You no go beep beep!" He pounds on his imaginary horn.

"I did honk!"

"No soon enough," he says, shaking his head furiously.

I laughed. I looked at the man, and I laughed. I laughed because I was pissed and I was incredulous.

"So, it's my fault that you backed out of your driveway without looking and ran into my car and it's because I DIDN'T HONK SOON ENOUGH? Kids, get back in the car!"

He starts speaking to me in Spanish. While I took many years of Spanish in high school and college, it's been a long time since I stepped foot into a Spanish class. Nor have I been able to use it in a practical setting very often since attending the classes. So far, the only benefit I've found from taking so many years of Spanish is that I know how to order a beer and I know how to ask where the bathroom (that's the washroom if you're Canadian) is located when I'm in Spanish-speaking countries. (I must admit they've both come in quite handy.) Seeing as it's been about eight years since I've had the opportunity to have la cerveza en el bano en Mexico, you can imagine that I must have stared at him blankly.

He's pointing at my car and then pointing at the side of his truck at a huge dent on the front, left side of it. He hit me with the rear bumper of his truck. I couldn't figure out what point he was trying to make by gesticulating wildly between the two vehicles and their unrelated damage. I became a bit nervous that he was trying to turn it around on me since no one stopped to witness the wreck. (Of course they didn't! They might have been late to work or their child[ren] late for school!) So, I called the mechanic at my work to have him translate and convince the guy to give me his insurance information so that I could get on with the miserable day.

While I was explaining the situation to my friend, the man's wife came out of the house and he started telling her (rapidly) what had happened. She goes inside and returns with the insurance card and a pen and paper. I thank her profusely. As I'm writing down the information, she tells me that he had been in a wreck this past Friday when someone ran into him (hence the dent in the side of his truck) and that someone had hit her car on Sunday in the grocery store parking lot. She points out that damage as well.

"We're not going worry about the damage, though. It's no big deal. They're just cars. We won't file with their insurance. It's the nice thing to do."

Dude. Was she trying to lay a guilt trip on me? It sure seemed like she was trying to lay a guilt trip on me. This is why we have insurance, right? For situations like this? For when we mar someone else's property and they want it restored as close to its original condition as possible? I couldn't imagine asking someone to just forget about any damage I caused their car after backing into them because of a careless mistake.

"Ma'am," I said. "I pay almost $400 a month for this car. I'd like it to look like it's worth it."

And then I punched her. (No, not really. But you knew that. I don't even squash bugs. I capture them and put them outside. I'm Snow Fucking White.)

Instead, I got into the car and dropped my kids off at school late, went to work late, and set about getting caught up from my unexpected, but much needed vacation day yesterday. After I'd made some progress, I decided to call the insurance company. But first I went and asked my co-workers whether I should call their insurance agent or call my own first. They told me that I needed to file a police report.

A. Police. Report.

It was then that I realized that I was basically screwed. I'm a wanted woman, yo. And not just by the young, sweet, naive 20-something boys. (Not by them either, but it sounded good.) I am wanted for an unpaid traffic ticket though -- a traffic ticket that I suffered through defensive driving and for which they say they never received proof. And now I have a warrant, which costs a lot of money to get removed.

So, I can't call the police. They'll take my ass to jail. I don't wanna go to jail just because some guy backed out of his driveway and into my car. I don't want to be somebody's bitch.

Maybe it'll give my car character for it to look a little scruffed up. Better the car than me.